


Staying Mad All Day So We Can Let It Out Tonight

by sweeterthankarma



Category: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)
Genre: Co-workers and Lovers, F/F, Fighting/Making Up, First Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Helen imagines the possibilities: Lauren sulking, Lauren acting like nothing had happened, Lauren continuing the fight, or Lauren being completely unbothered by it and proving that Helen was just overthinking and over-feeling as she always seems to do.The absolute last thing Helen expects is Lauren greeting her innocently, pecking her on the lips as if nothing had happened only to pin her to the door seconds later.





	Staying Mad All Day So We Can Let It Out Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Make Up" by Ariana Grande, which was the inspiration for this little fic.

It’s funny, because the first time Helen and Lauren get into a fight at work, Helen is convinced it’s going to be the downfall of everything they’ve ever built between them. Well, to clarify, it’s their first fight as coworkers _and_ girlfriends, and the added pressure of what they are outside of work had made this morning’s discussion of proper medicine and treatment far more difficult to deal with than it should have been— and Helen doesn’t get easily fazed. 

However, she’s spent the whole rest of the day mulling over the implications of what they’d both said and how they’d said it, playing Lauren’s words and tone and inflection over and over in her mind, wondering if the way that her voice had raised in _that_ way meant anything about how she felt towards her. And of course she’d wondered the same about herself, imagining if her perfectionism had finally pushed Lauren to the edge or, god forbid, made her feel unworthy or unloved in even the slightest. 

Helen gnaws on the inside of her cheek the whole walk home, letting the stress overtake her as she waits for her train— and then misses said train because she’s too busy refreshing her phone, looking for a text or page or email or anything from Lauren at all. 

She catches the next ride and spends the next twenty minutes wondering if Lauren would already be there at her apartment, cooking dinner like she always does. Or, Helen’s mind taunts, maybe she wouldn’t show up at all. 

She imagines the possibilities: Lauren sulking, Lauren acting like nothing had happened, Lauren continuing the fight, or Lauren being completely unbothered by it and proving that Helen was just overthinking and over-feeling as she always seems to do.

The absolute last thing Helen expects is Lauren greeting her innocently, pecking her on the lips as if nothing had happened only to pin her to the door seconds later. That’s exactly what she gets though, and it takes Helen a moment to register what’s happening, even as as her hands move reflexibly to Lauren’s waist. It’s a gesture of habit, something subconscious, and Helen only realizes that Lauren’s lips are on her neck when she growls something against her skin and feels teeth. The words she’d said were vaguely related to her being hot even when she knows that she’s wrong and Helen’s still reeling, trying to process and decide how to move and what to say, if anything at all. She has enough of a brain left to at least realize that in retrospect, she should have known that this was the kind of response she’d get. She’s dating Lauren Bloom after all, and “feisty” might as well be her middle name. 

Lauren doesn’t give Helen any time to talk or even really react. She pulls her blouse out from under her skirt and slips her hands up her waist, caressing the smooth skin of her stomach with affectionate urgency as her fingertips move closer and closer to the underside of her breasts. 

     “I was worried about how you’d react after everything that had happened today,” Helen says, finally finding adequate and coherent words. She stammers and stumbles a bit, as if forgetting how her vocal chords work, and hell, maybe she has. Her lips brush Lauren’s as she speaks and she gasps, “I didn’t expect this.”

Lauren pulls back just a little, smirking as she rakes a hand through her hair. It’s a common gesture, one Helen sees a lot, and it’s so sexy, so overwhelming especially in moments like these when she keeps giving Helen that smolder that makes her so weak in the knees, quite _literally._

Helen watches Lauren move and her eyes follow as if in slow motion, mesmerized. Lauren’s shoulder is exposed and Helen fights the urge to press her lips there, to drag them across her collarbone and up her neck. She knows she’ll get the chance to soon enough— and what a moment of euphoria it is to just _know_ that she’s going to get that luxury in mere minutes— and besides, the proud grin on Lauren’s face keeps her locked in place, unable to do anything but take in the sight of her.

     “You know by now that I’m unpredictable,” Lauren replies, cocky and sure and true, and Helen laughs in exhale. Lauren’s hands tighten around her waist and she leans in closer again. “But you should have known that you wouldn’t get off the hook with what happened today.”

She kisses her throat again, sucks a bruise against her skin with even more teeth this time. It makes Helen whine, suddenly _so_ needy, and through her adrenaline rush she finds the strength to stabilize herself, to switch their position so she’s pressing herself flush against Lauren’s chest. Taking control, she urges a leg between Lauren’s thighs and pulls away just when Lauren moves to grind against it. Lauren curses, grabbing her wrists and pulling her in closer as she tries to repeat the motion, and Helen is the one to smile now. 

     “What makes you think that I was going to let you go easy, either, Bloom?” she counters then, and Lauren beams.

     “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

* * *

 

     “I think I like it when you get mad,” Helen admits later, when they’re done and dinner has been cooked and eaten and cleaned up— and the recently discarded clothes have been picked up from the kitchen floor and put in the laundry.

There’s a lull in the air around them even as they both grin. It’s been hours since they were two bodies pressed tight together and Helen is still a giddy ball of nerves, unable to stop thinking about it: how they had moved, how they had wanted, how they had received. They’ve had sex before, more times than either of them can count, and while it’s always been good— correction:— it’s never been like that: all heat and flame and humor and taunt, pent up anger coming out in the form of harsh kisses and warm fingers pushing and pressing just where they’re needed. From the way Lauren looks up, eyes bright and excited, it’s obvious she’s been feeling the same way, and there’s a rekindled danger in the way she speaks seconds later.

     “Wanna find something to fight about again?” 

Helen laughs because if she doesn’t she’ll probably moan, honest to god. She briefly considers telling Lauren that, letting her in on the already exposed secret of how worked up she still is over everything she’s done, everything _they’ve_ done; besides, it’s impossible not to be and she has a feeling Lauren must feel the same. She decides she’ll tell her how hard it is to keep her mouth shut later, when Lauren is taking her sweet time teasing her, needing some kind of praise to get her to oblige and give in. 

Lauren’s hands are folded in her lap like they’re talking about something mundane, maybe taxes or rent or the subway delays they faced the other day, and the contrast of how she lounges versus the offer she proposes makes Helen feel so many different things at once. She’s effortless, sexy and confident and unafraid, and Helen finds that her girlfriend’s bravery makes her feel just as bold herself.

     “We could always skip right to the apology,” she suggests, voice silky and daring and tinted with a laugh because Lauren’s lips are already beginning to curl up, anticipatory and delighted, and she knew this was how she’d react.

     “Now you’re talking, Sharpe,” she says, lurching into her lap only to haul her to her feet mere seconds after. She moves swiftly, purposefully, and Helen doesn’t know how she does it but she’s gone already, shivering again at her touch and practically merciless to whatever she does. Her hands reach for Helen’s shirt, raising it up and pulling it away and the motion is filled with familiarity, making Helen soften even as every nerve in her body is on fire all over again, exhilarated. 

This way that they love each other feels a little too good to be true sometimes— okay, most of the time— and Helen is constantly swept off her feet by it. She tears away from Lauren’s mouth and finds the breath to voice that sentiment aloud, to rile her girlfriend up even more with her thoughts, with the truth. She’s told her the exact thing plenty of times before on numerous occasions but Lauren is a glutton for praise and Helen can never keep quiet when she feels this good, anyways.

Besides, she knows what Lauren wants like it’s her own desire, burning inside of her until it’s set free. So she murmurs her confession against Lauren’s collarbones, words falling onto the faint hickey that she had left there earlier, and Lauren grins bright in response. She shows her gratitude by making Helen swallow her moans, kissing her so hard she sees stars, and _oh,_ Lauren definitely knows how good she is. 

She also knows how bad she is, and that’s half the fun; that’s the whole reason they’re here to begin with. 

Yeah, they’re definitely going to have to fight more often if this is how they make up. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr under the same username, sweeterthankarma, where I'm always down to talk about any and every New Amsterdam ship because let's be honest, I love them all.


End file.
